


Harry Potter and the Unspoken Choice

by redanarchy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Theory, Gen, Immortality, Master of Death (Harry Potter), Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi chapter sequel, One Shot, Out of Character, The Author Regrets Nothing, Very high chance to have a sequel, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26986447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redanarchy/pseuds/redanarchy
Summary: In the Limbo, Harry was given a choice between boarding the train and returning back to finish Voldemort off. Presented with two options, Harry Potter chose to simply walk away, and that changes everything.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Harry Potter, Death & Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 78





	Harry Potter and the Unspoken Choice

He saw Voldemort’s mouth move and with a flash of green light, he was gone. He laid face up, exposed to something he dare not see. His limbs flat by his side, silence singing inside his ears despite how illogical it sounded. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not entirely sure of his solitude, that subtle fact reminded him that he should make sure.

He should, it doesn’t mean he would. 

A long time later, or maybe no time at all, it came to him that he must exist, must be more than disembodied thought. Because he was laying down on some surface, something he knew existed therefore understood that he retained a sense of touch. 

Was this what death felt like? It was oddly comforting. 

A shiver ran down his spine, along with a cold breeze on his forehead. Where his scar should’ve been. Where Voldemort first struck him and marked him as an equal. The second he came down to this conclusion, Harry was made conscious that he felt bare. He was naked. Rather convinced that he was in pure solitude, this little fact didn’t bother him.

_Harry…_

_Wake up, Harry…_

He could hear something or was he dreaming? Harry did not know, he dared not ask because he did not understand if he could speak. But he could feel, he should be able to speak and be able to see. And Harry opened his eyes, discovering that he still had them.

He laid in the bright mist, unlike a mist he had ever seen before. The mist was like vapour, slowly revealing his surroundings but not covering them. He was laying on a surface, neither hot nor cold, but simply is. A surface that was flat, blank and something which to be. 

Harry sat up, slowly but surely. His body remained unscathed. He reached up to touch his face, he wasn’t wearing glasses anymore. 

As he stood, there were noises buzzing in the background. Whispering and chattering, filled with unspoken vows and broken promises. He blinked, and for a single moment, the whole white was littered with people then another blink later, he was alone again in this white nothingness and buzzing noise at the back of his head. 

Then, a noise reached out to him from the buzzing of his head. Louder than the rest yet so quiet in this silence: the small, soft thumping of something that flapped, flailed, and struggled. It was a pitiful noise, bringing out nothing inside of him but dismissiveness. He had a feeling that he was listening to someone complain, talking about something they do not deserve yet rewarded with. 

For the first time since he had awoken, Harry wished that he had his invisibility cloak, so he could hide himself away and be alone again. 

Barely had the wish had formed inside his head, a familiar cloak draped over his body as if it was lovingly embracing him. Hugging him tight and warm, as if it could protect him from this numb silence. It was extraordinary how it could summon his cloak from the living, bringing him comfort just as he had thought he needed it. 

He stood up, looking around. The longer he looked, the more it revealed to him, the louder the noise got. A great, domed glass roof glittered high above him in sunlight. Perhaps it was a palace, perhaps this was the afterlife. To spend in solitude. All was hushed and still, except for those noises in the background and the loud sound of thumping and whimpering, coming from somewhere. 

Harry turned slowly on the spot, and creation seemed to happen before his very eyes. A wide open space, bright and clean a hall larger than the Great Hall, with that clear, domed glass ceiling. It was empty yet not, a flicker in the light told him that he was not alone and yet he was. But he was the only visible person here, except for– he stared. 

He knew what was making the disgusting noise now, the sound getting louder as the buzzing softened. It had the form of a small, naked child. Curled on the ground, it’s skin was rough and rough, flayed-looking, and it lay shuddering under the seat. Unwanted, unneeded, unloved– stuffed out of sight and struggling for breath. 

It looked eerily similar to the Voldemort he had seen and wished had drowned in the Cauldron when Harry was finishing his Fourth Year. He was disgusted by it as the thought went by his mind, yet at the same time he was intrigued. Small and fragile and wounded though it was. Harry wondered if you could die even after death, for the creature curled up pitifully on the ground looked to be on the verge of death. 

He approached it slowly, his hand reaching out to touch it. Right before his hand made contact with the thing, he paused. Why did he have to touch it, should he comfort it? It disgusted him, scared him, yet it also aroused pity inside of him. He ought to comfort it, Harry thought, but at the same time he didn’t understand why he should. 

“You cannot help.”

He should spin around and look at the one who had spoken. A voice so loud and clear that it rendered the buzzing silent and muted the flaying child in front of him. Harry tilted his head, still staring at the creature beneath the bench before standing up. Slowly, he turned around to the owner of that clear, commanding, but familiar voice.

Albus Dumbledore was walking towards him, full of life and laughter, wearing sweeping robes of midnight blue. 

“Harry.” He spread his arms wide and welcoming, as if beckoning for Harry to give him a hug. He paused and smiled, “Come and walk with me, Harry. You brave, brave man.”

“Why?” Harry asked. Because he didn’t have to, he didn’t need to, he will not. He refused, he didn’t have to do anything for others anymore. He was dead, this was his acceptance for freedom. He embraced death once before, he had no need to follow the man who had planned his demise. 

“You’re dead,” Harry informed the man. 

“Oh, yes,” Dumbledore said matter-of-factly. 

“So am I.” 

“Ah,” Dumbledore smiled more broadly. “That is the question, isn’t it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not.”

“Not?” Harry echoed.

“Not.” Dumbledore confirmed. 

“You planned my death,” Harry said. “From the very beginning, you knew I had to die for Voldemort to end. So you kept me out of the loop, wanting me to enjoy my childhood. And then, I walked to my death. To die. To clean up your mess.” 

“Well,” Dumbledore smiled, “That is one way to see it.”

“I think I hate you,” Harry informed the man. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Dumbledore took in the remark calmly. 

“Where are we?” Harry demanded, wanting to move on from the previous topic. As much as he disliked the man standing before him or the child shivering beside him, Dumbledore should at least provide a reasonable answer for his question. 

“Well, I was going to ask you that,” Dumbledore said, looking around. “Where would you say we are, Harry?”

“King’s Cross Station, except cleaner. And…” Harry trailed off, the buzzing at the back of his mind reappeared. He stopped, staring at the emptiness behind Dumbledore which seemed to flicker between being crowded and void of presence. 

“...weirder,” Harry finished. 

“King’s Cross Station?” Dumbledore chuckled, “Good gracious, truly?”

“Excuse me?” Harry felt slightly offended. “Where would _you_ say this is?”

“Well, I have no idea, my dear boy,” Dumbledore informed him joyfully. “This is, after all, your time to shine.”

Harry had no clue what that meant, it just sounded like Dumbledore; Cryptic, infuriating, and made him remember that awful feeling of dislike towards the man. He glared at the man, then remembered a more pressing question that had plagued his mind before. A question he was sure would _make_ Dumbledore falter.

“The Deathly Hallows,” he said, vindictively appreciating how it wiped the smile off Dumbledore’s face. “What are they?”

“Ah, yes.” Dumbledore looked uncomfortable. In fact, he even looked a little worried. 

“Well?”

Dumbledore looked, for the first time to Harry, nothing like the wise, old man the world knew him as. He looked more like a child who was caught doing something wrong, like Hermione who did something she shouldn’t have yet done. Dumbledore looked like a small boy who was called out on his wrongdoing. 

“Immortality,” Harry said, watching as the old man flinched. “You, Grindelwald, Voldemort. Wanting to live forever, conquering _Death_. Planning things, great things, all for the sake of _living forever_.”

With each word, Dumbledore seems to shrink. 

“Running from Death, cheating Death, as if Death was something to be scared of,” Harry continued. He didn’t want to hurt the old man, regardless of anything, he still respected Dumbledore. But he wanted for Dumbledore to understand, ultimately, he was the same as Voldemort. Even with different paths and moral methods, he was like the Dark Lord, _finding ways to avoid Death_. 

“I was such a fool, Harry.” Dumbledore said mournfully, “You know, don’t you?”

“What do I know?” Harry demanded.

“Master of Death, Harry, Master of Death!” 

“Me.” Harry acknowledged, the stupid title that drove many men to death. And yet, as he spoke of himself with such a title, a breeze kissed his forehead and warm heads tugged his fingers. A piercing feeling appeared around his finger, invisible to Dumbledore’s sight, was a stone carved into his index. 

“They’re real,” Harry continued, still stunned at the appearance of the stone. The cloak which was wrapped around his frame, the stone that was embedded into his finger, and the wand that was still in the living but _his_. “A stupid title, yet very real. Master of Death.”

“A fool’s dream,” Dumbledore repeated. “And I was the fool.” 

“You are,” Harry agreed, meeting the old man’s eyes. “And now it’s mine. Funny how life works, the very thing the three of you had sought now belongs to me. The cloak, the wand, and the stone.”

Just then, a wand materialised into his palm. Bony and odd, it didn’t take a genius for Harry to figure out that this was the final Hallow: The Elder Wand. Dumbledore still couldn’t see any of it, even with Harry wearing all three of his childhood dreams, Dumbledore remained perfectly still as if nothing was wrong.

“As you have said,” Dumbledore conceded to that fact. “What many fools, including myself, had lusted for. It now belongs to you, who didn’t want nor asked for it.”

“You tried to use the Resurrection Stone,” Harry accused. 

Dumbledore nodded but he did not speak. They stood there in silence, Harry draped in the Hallows, Voldemort whimpering, and Dumbledore full of shame. Until it had sunk in, he needed to do something. He should leave or move on, perhaps find another method. 

“You want me to go back, don’t you?” Harry asked. 

“That is up to you.”

“I’ve got a choice?”

“Oh, yes,” Dumbledore smiled again. “We’re at King’s Cross, you said. Say, you board the train.”

“And where would it take me?” Harry challenged. 

“On,” Dumbledore said simply. 

Silence again. 

“No,” Harry said firmly. 

Dumbledore looked stunned, “No?”

“Goodbye,” Harry told the old man and spun around. 

He walked away, leaving behind Dumbledore who was shocked and Voldemort who laid forgotten. He walked away from the train and promised to return to the living. He walked in the light and followed the soft breeze that Dumbledore didn’t seem to notice, listening as the buzzing got louder yet quieter at the same time, walking deeper into the mist until there was nothing left to see. 

Harry chose the unspoken choice, to simply walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short Prologue. Came to me as an idea in a dream, thought I should expand on it. Enjoy and tell me your thoughts on the chapter, I suppose?


End file.
